


Reaching

by orphan_account



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After a second of deliberation, Neal grabbed his jacket and made his way out of the bullpen and up to the glass offices." Happy birthday, Mr. Bomer!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on 10/11/10 at Fanfiction.net.

Neal blinked away the weariness in his eyes and fought to keep from yawning. Paper work was not really his _thing_. Paper work for year old cold cases was  _definitely_  not his thing.

But after the... incident... with Fowler, Peter had made it his thing when he condemned him to desk duty for the foreseeable future.

Neal's grip tightened around his pencil, his knuckles turning white. These days he wasn't so much a consultant as an intern… although that probably stemmed from the fact that it was hard to  _consult_ when you weren't on speaking terms with the person you were supposed to be consulting.

The conman shook the thoughts from his head and leaned back over the case files, struggling to make sense of the words that seemed to  _insist_  on blurring together. But after a few more minutes of battling fruitlessly with his tired eyes and his overworked brain, he stood up. FBI coffee was disgusting, but it  _was_  one hundred percent caffeine _. And maybe after a cup or two…_  Neal was heading towards the smell of coffee beans before he could even complete his thought.

Twenty minutes and two coffees later, the blue-eyed conman trudged back to his desk; his unhappiness evident in every step. Nobody paid him any heed.

Neal slumped in his chair and stared morosely at the clock on the wall, his eyes following the second hand as it made its way around… and around… and…

Neal sighed before reaching blindly into the box for another folder… only for his fingers to connect with something that was most assuredly  _not_  a case file. He stood up to peer into the box, curiosity burning bright behind his eyes.

It was a small cupcake, its top generously lathered with thick chocolate frosting. A post-it note had been stuck to the bottom of the empty box (Neal knew for a  _fact_  that he had only been half way done...), a quick  _happy birthday_ scrawled across it in familiar writing.  _VERY_  familiar handwriting.

The consultant picked up the cupcake and sucked a stray bit of frosting off his finger; glancing up at his handler's office as he did so. His gaze softened marginally at the sight of Peter hunched over his desk, a stack of folders at his elbow.

After a second of deliberation, Neal snagged his jacket off his chair and made his way out of the bullpen and up to the glass offices (his cupcake balanced in one hand).

And if Peter was surprised at his consultant plopping down in the chair across from him, he did a good job of hiding it. Neal, however, couldn't hide his grin when Peter – without looking up - handed him a file from the stack. The consultant opened it with renewed vigor.

Things weren't  _good_ yet… but they were (maybe) getting  _better._ And, even if they weren't, they could at least  _pretend_  they were for today.


End file.
